


Moving House

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: What Makes A Monster [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magic, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Moving shouldn't be so complicated...





	1. The Idea

**Author's Note:**

> My muse has been super active lately. I'm a little worried that it got here early and is going to run out of juice. NanoWriMo is _next_ month.

It had started innocently enough. It was a slow night at The Beat. Jazz had come over to serve Red Alert and Inferno their regular drinks at their usual table. A high-energy engex for Inferno and Red Alert’s concoction that Jazz had just started calling a “Bloody Inferno” to keep from thinking about it too hard. He’d also brought a small dish of crystal kibble for the turbo-rats peeking at him hopefully from under the table.

Red Alert made a casual observance that it would be much easier to ensure his (and by extension his brother’s) safety if they converted the empty space above The Beat into a living space and moved there. Jazz had thought about it for a moment as he scritched behind the ears of one of the now-happily-eating turbo-rats. 

The upstairs space was just an open loft that held a smattering of old crates left behind by the previous owners. The only way into it at the moment was a small rickety staircase that had seen better cycles tucked behind the bar.  
Jazz had shrugged, citing time and resources as a major hurdle to the suggestion. Though it wasn’t a bad idea.

Unfortunately, there were several pairs of heightened audials listening in. (And Red Alert _had_ to have known they were eavesdropping, the fragger.)

Prowl’s pack had thought it was the Best Idea Ever ™ and had excitedly started supplying Jazz with sketches of how he could divide the space. Some were painstakingly graphed out to scale (Streetwise), while others looked like they had been drawn by a sparkling (Bluestreak).

Jazz had to admit that the loft space was large enough for him and Ricochet to share comfortably. And some of the pack’s ideas for how to use the area weren’t bad. Then Prowl had quietly taken him aside and offered to pay for the renovations. When Jazz had balked, Prowl had simply told him that the pack had the money to spare and they just wanted him and his brother to be safe.

The visored mech had found himself glossa-tied as the alpha had leaned into his space (always with the looming!). If felt like something was about to happen until they were rudely interrupted by a commotion at the bar. A hobgoblin had made an aft of himself by jokingly propositioning a visiting metal elemental who hadn’t appreciated it and literally tossed the smaller creature across the room. At least the altercation hadn’t ended in anything (or any bot) broken.

So, he’d brought it up with Ricochet when he’d returned home, safely ensconced in their apartment away from nosy beastformers.

“I ain’t surprise they want us t’ move.” Ricochet said. “I think us bein’ outside their territory makes ‘em twitchy.”

Jazz was confused. “We ain’t in it now?”

“No. Don’ ya know?” It was Ricochet’s turn to be confused. “We ain’t in th’ felidas’ territory, fortunately, bu’ we are in one o’ th’ resident ave’s.”

“‘Ow do ya know tha’?”

His brother shrugged, “I asked Smokescreen when we went ou’ last. Speakin’ of which, when are ya an’ Prowl gonna stop dancin’ ‘round each other?”

Jazz rubbed the back of his helm, embarrassed. “Er… tha’s not... Anyway. Would ya be up fo’ movin’?” Truthfully, he didn’t know where he stood with Prowl. He knew what _he_ wanted, but Prowl was just so damn inscrutable.

Ricochet gave him a teasing grin, but didn’t press. “I’d be up fo’ it. ‘Specially if we ain’t payin’ the bill.”

Jazz threw a pillow at him. “Ya’re terrible.”

Ricochet’s retaliation turned the rest of the conversation into a wrestling match across the living room floor. The neighbors complained about the noise and that sort of made up Jazz’s mind.

The pack was thrilled with their decision.

Red Alert was smug.

They began by cleaning out the random boxes and crates that had been left up in the loft as storage. For the first few cycles it was mostly Jazz and random pack members during the light-cycle. Ricochet still had his own job to attend, though he helped out in the evenings. And Prowl was always there. He worked as a PI and sometimes-consultant for the Enforcers, so his work hours were the most flexible.

It meant that Jazz got to spend more time with him which just cemented his planet-sized crush on the alpha. Prowl’s was a calm, steady presence. Jazz already knew that the placid mannerisms masked a surprisingly wry sense of humor, but he got to see other aspects as they worked together. The alpha was exceedingly patient with the younger members of his pack, even when they got overly enthusiastic and tried to move more boxes that they could actually handle (Barricade and Nightbeat).

He was also incredibly strong (which, to be fair, was a trait shared by most beastformers). Several times during the cleaning-out process Jazz’s fans had been spinning from more than exertion after watching Prowl effortlessly move his own frameweight in crates in one go. It was really unfair how attractive the mech was.

And the excessive touching continued. It left his plating humming with the beginnings of excess charge.

A servo to the back of his neck to say hello. Brushing shoulder pauldrons. Helping him reach something on a high shelf by standing behind him and grabbing it down for him while pressing their bodies together. And one memorable occasion where Prowl _physically_ picked Jazz up and moved him when he wasn’t standing where Prowl wanted him.

But Prowl never made any moves beyond that and it was beginning to drive Jazz just the slightest bit crazy.

During the dark-cycle Jazz still ran The Beat. He kept Mirage and Hound updated on the progress.

“Ya coul’ come by an’ help.” Jazz snarked one evening. “I’m sure magic woul’ make it easier.

Hound hesitated, looking torn. “We would love to help, but…”

Mirage huffed and explained, “We’re not allowed to interfere in mortal affairs, remember? Though, there is a lovely loophole where we can offer gifts to a favored mortal who has moved dwellings, so do invite us to the housewarming, won’t you? Besides, you have a small army of big, handsome canis tripping over themselves for you. Enjoy it.”

That _sounded_ like a cop-out… but then again: Fair Folk. What did he know?

After they’d cleaned out the loft they started discussing how Jazz and Ricochet wanted to use the space and what material they would need to buy. The brothers wanted to close off the “house” from the bar completely (Red Alert’s suggestion), which meant the interior set of stairs would need to go and a new set would need to be built on the outside along with an exterior door. They also wanted several separate spaces so Jazz and Ricochet wouldn’t disturb each other with their opposing schedules.

It was going to be a complex build, but the pack were enthusiastic about it (if not overly skilled in the hows of construction).

And that’s when the felidas showed up.

Jazz and Prowl had been inside at the time measuring the floor space. Smokescreen, Nightbeat and Skids were out measuring the dimensions for the stair stringers. The visored mech knew something was up immediately when Prowl’s doorwings flared out and a small, growl left his vocalizer. Lips curled up to reveal slightly elongated dente in an uncharacteristic display. He made a beeline to the door.

“Prowl? Wha’s wrong?” Jazz asked.

“Intruders.” The beastformer said tersely. “Stay here.”

Jazz trailed him to the door. “Oh, frag no. This might be your territory, but this is _my_ building, Prowl.”

The doorwinged mech gave a grumpy-sounding grumbling rumble, but didn’t stop Jazz from following him down the stairs.

Smokescreen, Skids and Nightbeat were already standing in front of the nightclub’s door. Plating fluffed, stances tense and claws sliding out of digits. 

On the sidewalk, less than twenty paces from them stood the Constructicons in their glaring green and purple plating. A pack of wirelions from the same litter or so Jazz had been told. They looked so similar, that he could believe it. 

They were all holding their servos palms out with their wrists facing the opposing pack. It was a symbol of peace and parley among beastformers; openly showing a weak spot. Jazz was sure that was only reason that the canis pack hadn’t attacked them on sight for the blatant breach of territory. 

Prowl stalked gracefully out of the door. His pack instinctively parted for him to take front and center, but (annoyingly) closed ranks protectively in front of Jazz. Jazz huffed in exasperation and ducked under doorwings. Sometimes being small had its advantages. He stepped up to Prowl’s side despite protests from his canis protectors.

The alpha flared his doorwing out to their fullest extent, rising to his full height. He barely came up to the shoulder of the shortest felida, but he didn’t look intimidated in the least. He didn’t shift, not even letting his optics change to the beastformer gold. His voice was calm and smooth as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

The felida leader (Scrapper, Jazz remembered) crossed his arm over his chestplates trying to adopt a nonchalant appearance. “We work in construction. A little mecha-sparrow told us you wanted to turn the top floor of this place into an apartment for the bot in charge.” He glanced carefully over at Jazz for a couple of kliks. Looking away when somebot let out a soft warning growl.

“So… what?” Smokescreen’s voice was gravely as he fought to keep from shifting. “You want to _help_? This is _our_ territory.”

“We know that.” Scrapper not-quite-snapped. “But maybe if we offer our expertise we could get your leave to come to this bar.”

“Why would we do that?” Nightbeat frowned.

“Oh come on!” One of the other felidas snarled. Gold bloomed across a couple of the red visors. “This is the best place in town for bots like us to relax and you’ve got it on lockdown from us. It’s not fair!”

“As I recall, when we kicked you out, you, yourself, said you could make drinks much better than this, what did you call it? Oh yes, this ‘hole in a wall’.” Prowl said mildly.

The mech seethed and sputtered, but the rising growl he’d been working on cut off abruptly when Scrapper, still looking oddly collected, uttered, “Shut up, Mix. You did say that.”

The smallest felida (with a facemask) snickered only to be thumped on the back of the helm by another larger one (no facemask and frowning at the behavior).

Scrapper turned his attention back to Prowl. “We’re not looking to expand territory, we just want to be able to enjoy the atmosphere. Pit, we know you let other beastformers in. It’s not about territory, it’s because you don’t like us. Not that we’ve given you any reason to.”

“All the other beastformers in Iacon are solitary.” Prowl stated. “You are the only other large pack that vies for territory.” But his doorwing were doing the up-down twitch that indicated he was thinking.

“So, ya’re… wanting t’ make some sort o’ deal?” Jazz spoke for the first time in the encounter. Six red visors and four pairs of blue optics abruptly locked onto him.

It was a little unnerving to suddenly be the sole focus of so many predators, but Jazz stood his ground.

“That’s right.” Scrapper said coaxingly. It was hard to tell because of his mask, but it sounded like he was smiling encouragingly. “We help you out and in return we get to come to your establishment. It’s win-win for you.”

It _did_ sound like a good deal, but… Jazz frowned crossing his arms over his chestplates. “Don’ coddle me. I remember wha’ ya did th’ last time ya were in my establishment. I’m still a little miffed at _both_ o’ ya fo’ breaking all my new glassware. I’m still findin’ pieces.”

“Er…right. Sorry about that...” Scrapper winced. As one, the felidas hunched a little, looking chagrined. One of the canis behind him actually whined. It should have been ridiculous- the tiny normal Cybertronian chastising ten beastformers.

Jazz continued, heedless of the felida’s fumbled apology. “If we were t’ work out some kind o’ deal, there’d be some _rules_ , ya understand? The’ first an’ most important one bein’ no fightin’. Anybot who starts somethin’ is gonna get thrown out, an’ I got plenty o’ patrons with the strength t’ back me up. This ain’t a place t’ be _owned_. It’s a place where my patrons can relax an’ be safe. They come first to me.”

Jazz looked over at Prowl, not wanting to alienate the other alpha or accidentally breach some sort of beastformer code. But Prowl was looking at him thoughtfully.

“Hmm. I believe I may have been going at this the wrong way.” Prowl murmured.

He flicked his sensor panels at his pack mates. “Stand down.”

They exchanged confused glances, but did so, shaking and rattling armor out of battle-readiness, though they were still keeping a close optic on the Constructicons. Scrapper, in turn, relaxed. Tension seeping out of his frame that Jazz hadn’t even realized was there. It caused a ripple of loosening plating across the other felida.

Prowl took Jazz’s servo in his own in an oddly formal gesture. He pressed his other servo to his chestplates. “I, Prowl, alpha of my pack, do formally request for myself and my pack, entry to this Neutral Ground under your care.”

There were sounds of surprise from the others. Scrapper’s helm tilted consideringly.

Before Jazz could freeze up, unsure how to respond, there was gentle ping to his comm.

:Do you wish to grant us access?: Prowl’s voice was warm and steady.

:Yeah.:

:Then say this: I, Jazz, Keeper of this Neutral Ground,:

“I, Jazz, Keeper of this Neutral Ground,”

:do so grant you entry,:

“do so grant ya entry,” 

:if you will so swear to abide by my rules in this place.:

“if ya will so swear t’ abide by my rules in this place.”

Prowl dipped his helm and spoke out loud. “I so swear, for myself and my pack.”

The canis alpha backed up and then Scrapper slowly approached until he stood in front of Jazz. Oh, he was so much bigger up close. But he took Jazz’s servo delicately, copying Prowl’s gesture.

“I, Scrapper, leader of my pride, do formally request for myself and my pride, entry to this Neutral Ground under your care.”

The words came easier the second time. “I, Jazz, Keeper of this Neutral Ground, do so grant ya entry, if ya will so swear t’ abide by my rules in this place.”

Scrapper tapped his chest. “I so swear, for myself and my pride.”

The felida backed up a few paces and Jazz let out a soft relieved vent. It felt like something huge had just happened. Not magic, exactly (because he knew what _that_ felt like, thanks Mirage), but something game changing nonetheless.

“So,” Jazz said into the strange silence that had descended. “I don’ suppose ya fellas know ‘ow t’ build a staircase do ya?”


	2. The Rite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz learns that witches are a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "Can we write the house blessing now?"  
> Muse: "Nope!"  
> Me: "...why are you like this?"  
> Muse: "Because it's fun?"

The Constructicons made good on their word and took to the refurbishment of the loft space with borderline glee. The outdoor staircase and new front door were built in less than a deca-cycle. They closed off the old pass-through to the bar, taking out the stairs and turning it into a closet. They even insisted on reinforcing the existing structure before putting in the new walls.

Since he wanted to oversee the work, Jazz found himself learning more about the felidas and how to tell them apart. Scrapper, he knew. The leader of the wirelion pride was sort of like their foreman when they worked, giving orders and throwing himself into the project. He kept checking in with Jazz to make sure they had the details to his liking.

Mixmaster was a chemist, though he dabbled in the culinary arts and kept suggesting drinks to add to The Beat’s menu. Long Haul seemed like the most mature, solemn and serious. Through a few conversations, Jazz found out the he liked poetry. Hook was the pride’s medic and something of a perfectionist. Bonecrusher had an unhealthy relish for demolition, though the others kept him in check. And Scavenger… Well, from what Jazz could glean, Scavenger had been the runt of the litter. He was smaller than the others with self-esteem issues, but was always eager to please, whether it be his brothers or Jazz. And he loved shiny things.

He was frequently the one getting teased and pushed around. Though Jazz personally witnessed the pride viciously coming to his defense when another bot started to bully Scavenger. So maybe it was just a sibling thing. Jazz and Ricochet certainly had a similar relationship.

Prowl and his pack were always around in some capacity, watching the construction, coming in and out of the house. Which sometimes made things both crowded _and_ awkward. And Jazz found himself being outright petted some cycles, as if the canis pack were keeping him claimed as “theirs” by virtue of how many nanites they could leave on his plating alone. To placate them so they didn’t become jealous of the attention the Constructicons were getting, Jazz promise that they’d be the ones to help him pick out furniture and decorations. They were unhappy at the presence of their rivals, but unwilling to break the sanctity of this new Neutral Ground they’d declared.

And that was a _thing_ , Jazz found out.

The first thing that clued him in, was the unexpected repeat of the little “ceremony” that Prowl and Scrapper had done by the femme ave beastformer from whose territory he was moving. He’d known Slipstream tangentially previously, but she made _sure_ he knew her name and willingness to uphold Neutral Ground now.

The next thing, of course, were his Fair Folk friends. Mirage and Hound had noticed it right away when they came back to The Beat for their regular rendezvous. 

Hound froze after coming through the door, sniffing the air. Mirage was a bit more composed, making a gesture with his servo through the air and bringing a digit to his dermas, tasting it with his glossa. Both their optics found Jazz.

Mirage tsked. “They can’t just start a ritual without the incantations to back it up.”

“Uh, wha’?” Jazz asked intelligently.

“The Rite of Locus Pacis.” Mirage said, breezing over to their normal table. “Directly translated a “place of peace”. Otherwise known as Neutral Ground? Somebot said the words to start the ritual but they didn’t put any power behind it. And they centered it around you and this place. Potential just hanging in the air like that is dangerous.”

“I’m sure Prowl didn’t mean t’ put me in any danger.” Jazz defended.

Mirage huffed. “Prowl, of course.”

Hound also sat down. “It’s a good thing we called Trailbreaker. He can finish the ritual.”

Jazz tilted his helm, curiously. “Who’s Trailbreaker?”

“Oh, he’s a witch,” Mirage said airily, “we asked him to come bless your house.”

“... o’ course ya did.”

When Jazz actually met Trailbreaker, he wasn’t anything like what Jazz had imagined. The titanic black mech was intimidating looking, but he was a gentle giant (not an actual giant, though, those were something different), and he was accompanied by his feisty apprentice. A blue femme named Moonracer.

He’d taken one look around the nightclub (during the day when it was closed to the general public) and announced that they needed to finish the ritual first before blessing the house. 

Since the house wasn’t quite done yet (the Constructicons were arguing that they needed some say in the design choices, while Prowl’s pack was telling them to _get done_ and _get out_ already), Jazz agreed. 

Which is how he found himself standing in the middle of The Beat just before the beginning of the dark-cycle while Trailbreaker and Moonracer painstakingly painted arcane glyphs down his arm plating. They used a strange clear paint that they’d blessed with soft chants of old cybex.

“Those of us with witch-sparks, who can actually produce our own magic, are a rarity.” Trailbreaker explained in his soothing, rumbling voice. “Far more common are the mortals that can utilize ambient magic with the proper sort of focus. And you have just the right spark for it: a potent combination of empathy and will. The Rite of Locus Pacis sets up a place for such magics to gather. The named Keeper of such a place can channel those magics to ensure the sanctity of the location remains.”

“Wait. So Prowl an’ Scrapper jus’ sorta nominated me fo’ this? Wha’ if I hadn’t been th’ righ’, uh, “spark”?”

Moonracer just grinned at him. “Then you wouldn’t have been at the right place at the right time. Magic’s annoyingly good at getting who and what it needs when and where it needs it.”

Well _that_ was confusing.

“What she means,” Trailbreaker clarified, “is that what may have seemed like a coincidence, isn’t.”

“Okay… I guess?”

The witches just laughed at his incredulity.

Both beastformer packs had been banished from the inside of the building because their presence would throw off the ritual, despite having apparently started it. They were milling twitchily outside, keeping bots out and occasionally peeking into the large plate glass window. Trailbreaker had even banned Hound and Mirage, though he spoke of them fondly when Jazz asked how he knew them.

“I’m the reason these two met, you know. It’s one of my greatest triumphs, though it was motivated by greed to begin with.” He said while dipping the brush in the pot. “You see, when I was just beginning my own apprenticeship, I sought out one of the Fae wellsprings to attempt to tap into the power for my first teleportation spell.” Trailbreaker gave a soft chuckle. “Nearly unmatched is the arrogance of a young witch.”

Jazz couldn’t imagine anybot less arrogant than the mech he was listening to.

“What I did not know, despite my careful planning, was that these wellsprings are so important to the Fair Folk that they will set aside their millenia long feud to both send warriors to stop anybot who might try to harness powers they do not understand. Which is exactly what happened when I got there.”

“Those two were sent from their opposing courts and _that_ is when they first laid optics upon one another. United in their task, they worked together to to stop me from doing irreparable damage to the wellspring. And since I was no mere mortal, but a witch, they took the time to educate me and found that they worked oh-so-well together.”

With one final swipe of the brush, Trailbreaker stood back and ran a critical optic over his and his apprentice’s work. He finally nodded and put down the paint, reaching into his subspace. He pulled out four large, circular glass baubles filled with substances that Jazz didn’t have time to study. He handed two to Moonracer and held the other two himself.

“Now, you stand right there while we place the foci.”

“While ya place th’ wha’, now? Wha’ are ya doin’?” Jazz asked curiously.

Trailbreaker smiled and patiently walked Jazz through what he was doing. 

“These,” he said holding up one of the glass ornaments, “are representations of the four elements, the foci which will draw in the ambient energies for you to use as this place’s Keeper. Because this is a declared Neutral Ground, sanctified by Rite, every creature that walks through those doors makes an unspoken contract with you when they enter. In exchange for the safety that this place ensures, they willingly give up just a bit of their energy.”

“That energy each has a certain elemental bend. Its own… _flavor_ if you will. These foci collect that energy and channel it to the central point of the room. Right where you are standing.” 

Jazz looked at his feet. “Uh, an’ ya _want_ me to keep standin’ ‘ere?”

“Yes.” Trailbreaker just nodded his helm while Moonracer giggled again.

“You managed to pick a building quite suited for this, actually. Each corner is in a cardinal direction. Each cardinal direction is associated with an element. First we will start with the North.”

The two witches walked to the corner to the left of the door. Trailbreaker held up one of the foci. The sphere of glass contained a suspended cube of grey metal, the top was tied with a braided silver cord. He continued to speak, gentle voice like distant thunder. “Connected to the North, Metal is associated with fertility and stability. It is the body of Primus itself. The planet itself is a ball of life and we can watch all the aspects of life take place as it turns: sparking, life, deactivation, and finally resparking. Metal is nurturing and stable, solid and firm, full of endurance and strength. In color correspondences, silver connects to Metal.”

He hung the ornament in the corner. He and Moonracer chanted softly and Jazz saw a… well, a _flicker_ was the best way to put it. A silvery shine of unsteady light that raced down the corner, across the floor and disappeared at his feet.

“Was tha’ wha’ was s’pposed t’ ‘appen?” Jazz queried uneasily.

“Oh, yes. Not to worry.” Moonracer piped up cheerfully, which actually did a lot to set Jazz at ease. They moved to the corner on the right side of the door. The black mech held up the next glass sphere which was tied with a white cord and filled with thick, lazily swirling smoke.

“Smoke is the element of the East, connected to the soul and the breath of life. It is associated with communication, wisdom or the powers of the mind. Smoke carries away your troubles, blows away strife, and carries positive thoughts to those who are far away. It’s correlated color is white.”

They repeated the hanging and chanting. And this time the _flicker_ was, yep, white. Okay, then. Jazz was getting the hang of this. Sorta.

At the next corner Trailbreaker took one of the orbs from Moonracer. This one held a ball of pure yellowy energy that flared out in tiny strikes against the glass to lick at the witch’s digit tips. The cord was gold. Jazz felt oddly fascinated by it. “Lightning is a purifying energy, associated with the South, and connected to strong will and vitality. It both creates and destroys, and can heal or harm. It can bring about new life or destroy the old and worn. For color, gold is used for Lightning.”

Hang the ball of magic. Chant. Gold _flicker_. Check.

Last corner. The last bauble was filled with oil. The light in the room caused it the shimmer with its hidden dark rainbow. “To complete the circuit, Oil. Oil is used for healing, cleansing, and purification. It is related to the West, and associated with passion and emotion. Its color is black.”

After the sphere was hung and the last word of the chant spoken the black colored _flicker_ of magic shot towards Jazz’s pedes. An interconnected circle of elemental light lit up around him. Before he even had a chance to react, the bands of light fractaled and redrew themselves as an ornate seal under his pedes. He was vaguely aware of the witches chanting in the background, but he was more concerned with the arching lines of energy that were licking up his frame like living electricity, setting the glyphs along his arms alight. 

It didn’t hurt. But all he could do was stare in awe, turning his servos this way and that, as tiny bolts of lightning danced from his digit tips. Light flared brightly and then dimmed away to nothing leaving Jazz looking around himself as if he could see where it had gone.

“Woah!”

“Ha!” Moonracer crowed. “I _knew_ he was lightning aspected!”

Jazz flailed a little. “Ya didn’ think t’ give me some sort o’ warnin’?!”

Trailbreaker’s smile was laced with a touch of mischief, he pointed towards the plate window. “And miss the look on their faceplates?”

Jazz turned in surprise, only to see the two packs squashed together in a mish-mash of plating, shocked faces pressed to the glass. Even Prowl. Oh, and there was Ricochet, too. It was so comical that Jazz started laughing, releasing the tension of nerves from his frame.

Trailbreaker put his huge servo gently on Jazz’s shoulder pauldron. “Congratulations Keeper. The Rite of Locus Pacis is complete. Now we just need to bless you new house.”

Ricochet threw open the door to the nightclub. “Wha’ th’ frag did I jus’ see?!”

Wait... Had he forgotten to tell Ricochet?

Whoops.


	3. The Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mystical shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Backstory Plot. Where did you come from?

“So, can ya, like, _do_ magic now?” Ricochet asked with a curious helm tilt.

They were sitting at the bar side by side. Jazz had made Ricochet’s favorite drink in apology for the scare he’d given him. His brother had already drunk about half of it in one go while Jazz nursed his own drink slowly. Hound and Mirage were talking to Trailbreaker and Moonracer at one of the tables that would fit the larger mech. The Constructicons and Prowl’s pack were clustered in different booths. Except for Scavenger, who was wandering from corner to corner staring at the magic baubles, servos curled into fists at his chestplates to keep himself from touching. And Prowl, who was sitting on Jazz’s other side. Every so often he would brush his digits down the (now-invisible to regular cybertronians) glyphs on Jazz’s arm.

The beastformers seemed much more calm in each other’s presence, though there was still plenty of verbal sniping between them.

Jazz sighed. “No, Rico, I can’t ‘do’ magic. Not like the witches or the Fair Folk. My ‘power’ only exists inside this buildin’ ‘cause its Neutral Ground an’ I’m its Keeper. Outside o’ ‘ere I’m jus’ a normal mech. It’s like…” he thought hard. How could he explain it? “...It’s like when ya’re managin’ a shipment at work. Ya’re th’ one callin’ th’ shots, but other bots are actually movin’ th’ crates, flyin’ th’ transport an’ makin’ th’ delivery. Ya’re pointin’ it in the right direction, but ya’re not th’ one doin’ th’ ‘eavy liftin’. An’ outside o’ work ya can’t boss those same mechs around an’ tell ‘em t’ do wha’ ya want. Understand?”

“...I think so, bu’ I’ve still got questions.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jazz turned in his seat and reset his vocalizer getting the attention of everybot in the room. “Moonracer said I was… ‘Lightnin’ aspected’. Wha’ does tha’ mean, exactly?”

Trailbreaker smiled encouragingly, seemingly happy to elucidate. “Every bot, regular cybertronian or creature, is aspected towards one of the four elements. Even though, in Neutral Ground, the ambient energy provided to the Keeper by their patrons can be from any element, when that energy _translates_ to something tangible for use, it will take on the aspect of its bearer. In your case, the element of Lighting.”

“Wha’s my aspect?” Ricochet inquired with interest.

“Jealous?” Jazz teased nudging his shoulder.

Ricochet prodded back. “A little,” he admitted, though he said it with a smile.

Moonracer piped up. “Oh, you’re Lightning aspected too. Not surprising, really, since you two are frame twins.”

Both Ricochet and Jazz were startled, though Ricochet found his voice first. “‘Ow do ya know tha’?”

Moonracer wiggled her digits with a grin. “Magic. But seriously, your energy is a dead give away and you don’t act like split-spark twins.”

Jazz and Ricochet glanced at each other. Huh. Well, that sorta made sense.

“So, now tha’ th’ Rite is done, wha’ now?”

Mirage hummed. “It’s not quite done. You still need to set the rules, darling.”

“Rules?”

“Oh yes. I can still feel that bothersome potential hanging in the air. I’m surprised you didn’t take care of that already, Trailbreaker.” Mirage scolded.

The witch just huffed in amusement. “Those rules are for the Keeper to decide. I _do_ know my craft, thank you.” He turned to Jazz. “You will need to make a clear set of rules for this Neutral Ground. Magic always works best when it has clear parameters.”

“Huh. Well, I guess I need t’ give it some thought an’ scribble out some ideas.”

“Here.” Prowl suddenly spoke up, startling him. The beastformer handed him a clean datapad. Jazz took it with a grateful smile.

“Always prepared, huh?”

Prowl just made a low, soft sound deep in his throat and pressed up against him.

Jazz brainstormed for a bit with the witches until he had a list that he was satisfied with.

Trailbreaker then said, “Now you must speak them with conviction. Begin with the words: ‘These are the Rules set for this sanctified Neutral Ground.’ And then list the rules as you have decided them.”

“Okay…” Jazz took a vent “These are th’ Rules set fo’ this sanctified Neutral Ground.”

The invisible glyphs lit up along Jazz’s arms with gold light. Ricochet yelped and fell off his chair. Jazz nearly followed suit, but managed to stay seated thanks to Prowl putting a steadying servo on his back. He tightened his grip on the datapad and continued to read. 

“Rule one: No fightin’. Rule two: Magic use is discouraged.” As each rule was spoken, the glyphs pulsed as if acknowledging them. “Rule three: Neutral Ground is immune t’ territory claims. Rule four: Any individual wishin’ t’ ‘old an event in Neutral Ground must get approval o’ th’ Keeper. Rule five: If th’ Keeper asks ya t’ leave Neutral Ground, ya must comply. Rule six: All o’ these rules are active, despite th’ physical presence o’ th’ Keeper.”

“So shall it be.” Trailbreaker’s rumbling voice filled the space.

The glyphs flashed one more time, tiny motes of light dancing out to swirl around the room much to the delight of the collection of bots. Prowl gently caught one in his servo, seeming to admire the speck of brightness as it lit up his palm. It glittered and faded out with the other sparkles. He looked at Jazz with something tender in his optics. It was-

“ _There_ now!” Mirage said briskly, causing Jazz’s spark to jump in alarm at the sudden noise. “Now that that’s done we can start planning your house blessing.”

“ _Primus_ Mirage! Give me a moment t’ vent, I’m new t’ this!”

 

The Constructicons had finally relented to Prowl’s pack and declared work on the upstairs living space done. After they’d left, the canis beastformers had immediately come in and done their damndest to brush their nanites over every wall. Weirdos. 

But then they had diligently and enthusiastically helped Jazz and Ricochet move all of their furnishings and belongings to the new place. And _then_ they proudly presented the brothers with two, new, large overstuffed couches, so Jazz forgave them for their strange beastformer idiosyncrasy.

Now, the pack, Mirage and Hound, Jazz and Ricochet, and the witches were crowded into the new house so it could be blessed and gifts could be given. 

Trailbreaker hung a fresh crystal trimming with a blue cord tied up in intricate knots over the doorway. Moonracer was busy sticking two crossed needles into the corner of the new doormat that Ricochet had bought. It was apparently to keep evil from coming into the home. Once she was done, the black mech took out a small container of powder from his subspace and walked through sprinkling it on doorsteps and window sills.

Then he came back to the main room and he and Moonracer spoke in Neo-cybex (which surprised Jazz- they’d done so much chanting in old cybex). “I banish all evil and negativity from this home. Only good shall prosper here! This home is protected; this home is secure. Evil may do no harm here! So shall it be!”

There were no fancy flashes of light or overt magical shenanigans like there had been in the nightclub, but Jazz still felt a sort of _shift_ in the air.

Trailbreaker gently herded everybot to the edges of the room and laid down a white, black, silver and gold braided rope in a circle in the middle of the room. He called upon the spirits and energies living in the house. He invite those who would be harmonious with the new household and its energies to remain. Then he gently, yet insistently encouraged those who would be happier elsewhere to depart. With a booming order of, "Release!" he concluded that part of the ritual.

He beckoned Moonracer and she stepped forward calling upon, greeting, and inviting ancestors, and all harmonious spirits and energies to dwell in the house as they pleased.

With smiles, the two witches told the bots present to go gather up pots, pans and whatever noise-makers they could find. Trailbreaker led them in a procession to each door and window, making as much racket as possible (to shoo out anything unwanted, apparently). It was hilariously fun. 

Still laughing and randomly clanking they walked through the house again. This time at each door and window Trailbreaker and Moonracer sprinkled incense, saying: "By the Elements I purify and charge this portal." Then anointed the portal with midgrade, saying: "By Nourishment I ensure prosperity and peace within this place." Finally, he anoint the portal with acetate, saying: "With Cleansing Fluid I seal this portal and protect all within." 

At the front door Trailbreaker gave the final blessing, asking Primus to freely grant entry to all friends and loved ones, and to turn aside to any who would do harm. Then, he poured engex across the width of the threshold. He turned to Jazz and Ricochet and instructed them to each take a sip of engex. The rest of the engex and midgrade were offered up to Primus.

“Now we can give you your housewarming gifts,” Mirage said happily.

“Ya ‘ave a one track processor.” Jazz said dryly.

“Never underestimate the gratification that Fair Folk obtain from giving a gift.” Trailbreaker said as he took up the circle of rope, sending a wink to the two Fae. Mirage huffed and looked away in embarrassment, but there was a smirk tugging at his dermas while Hound just smiled cheerfully.

“Well, I ain’t gonna turn away a gift from a friend.” The Polyhexian said. 

Hound came and stood in front of the brothers. He cupped his servos together, shimmering, wispy energy filling them like liquid. “Summer tends to shed light on secrets, it reveals things we might not have seen before. It is a time of sharing, giving and opening ourselves to the light of life. My gift to you is that your home may be one of open sparks and clear communication, free of arguments and strife.”

For a moment Hound’s glamor slipped away. His limbs stretched taller, soft-looking tingrass sprouted like fur over his shoulder pauldrons and backplates. From his helm grew the sharp, titanium horns of a petro-deer. He made a tossing motion, the magic flowing up and hanging in the air in glittering droplets like so many stars on a clear summer’s dark-cycle. The glow of the magic slowly faded and Hound’s glamor returned.

Mirage stepped up next, shedding his glamor so his long limbed, ice and crystal form stood before them. He lifted his servo, a sparkling glaze of energy coated it like a rime of frost. “Winter is a time of symbolic death and solemn slumber. It is a time to rest, regroup and get back to the roots of what is most important to us. It is time for a break, because when the next season comes, winter gives us the time we needed to prepare for the next change. Therefore, my gift to you is that your home be a place of restful respite, a peaceful retreat from the trials and cares of the world.” 

He tilted his helm and blew across his servo. The magic billowed up to the ceiling and then drifted down gently like a light snowfall.

“This is so cool.” Ricochet whispered.

Jazz elbowed him. “Thank ya, Hound. Thank ya, Mirage.”

They smiled indulgently.

“You’re welcome.”

“Our pleasure, of course.”

 

After the Fae and the witches had left, the pack and the brothers settled onto the floor and two huge couches to watch some holo-vids (sneaky canis had an ulterior motive for buying those couches, it seemed). Ricochet pestered Jazz about getting snacks until he sighed theatrically and went to the kitchen.

As Jazz rummaged about in the cupboard for jasper chips, the soft sound of a vocalizer resetting drew his attention. Prowl was standing a few pedesteps away from him (mech could sure embody his namesake!).

“Jazz, there is something I wish to talk to you about.” The hesitation in his voice was uncharacteristic.

Concerned, Jazz nodded, closing the cabinet and turning to face him. “Sure, Prowl. Wha’s wrong?”

“There is nothing wrong, per se, I just… feel as if I should explain my recent actions. Towards you.”

“Alrigh’.”

“I am attracted to you,” he said frankly. Hound’s gift seemed to be at work already. Or maybe that was just typical Prowl. 

“I’m… attracted t’ ya too.”

A small smile quirked the beastformers dermas for a klik before dropping again. “When I was young, still living in Praxus, I fell in love with a regular mech. He didn’t know what I was, and I kept it a secret from him. I thought if I courted him long enough to become conjunx, when I revealed myself, he would just accept me. It… didn’t happen that way.” 

“A territory dispute between my Sire’s pack and another got out of servo… and we got caught in the middle of a physical fight. He saw me transform. Called me a monster. He threatened to expose us. My Sire… had to call in a favor from one of the witches in the city to erase his memories. Of the fight. The pack… Of me.” Prowl shuddered in remembered pain. Compulsively, Jazz threw his arms around him, giving him a tight hug. The doorwinged mech rested his chin on top of Jazz’s helm.

Prowl took in a deep vent and let it out in an aching sigh. “I left Praxus soon after. I intended to do so alone, but my littermates were far more loyal to me than I realized. We met the others who would become part of the pack on our travels. Eventually, we ended up here, in Iacon. There was only one other large pack and the city was far larger than Praxus, so we set up a territory and a home.” 

The beastformer pulled back far enough so that he could look into Jazz’s visor. “And then I met you. And I felt that pull again. Only this time, you already knew what I was. But every time I thought to act upon my feelings, that old dread would raise its helm… but I tire of fear.”

Jazz carefully put his servo on Prowl’s cheekridge. “Ya don’ ‘ave’ t’ be afraid.”

Prowl slowly drew him close. Jazz went up on his pedetips, meeting him halfway. Their dermas brushed in a delicate, chaste kiss. When they pulled back, Prowl’s optics had turned gold. Jazz smiled at him and stroked his helmvent. The beastformer leaned in for another kiss…

The moment was interrupted, of course, by Smokescreen yelling from the living room,

“Fragging _finally_! It took you two long enough!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl: -_- "Excuse me while I go mangle my packmate."


End file.
